


something about you tells me to get lost with you

by 3days



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Jaeno, M/M, Mutual Pining, Soft Drabble, Synesthesia, i wrote this instead of doing summer hw, nomin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 00:09:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15569376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3days/pseuds/3days
Summary: In which Jeno is fairly new to Jaemin’s neighbourhood, and they hit it off really well.Based off Playlist by DPR Live





	something about you tells me to get lost with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rule4419](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rule4419/gifts).



> a little idea i conjured up in the shower sometime early june that took me three months to finish
> 
> if u like reading w bgm the playlist is [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/deanttbrl/playlist/0QhnoFqJDQh8eIqqP6SDiL?si=Scz2jgeZQpa3M9WM1Yet3g)

It was the first Monday of June when Jaemin could semi-accurately grasp what was about to happen. His grandmother had yelled his name to wake him up from the deepest sleep he’d had in years, yelling something about meeting a new boy in their neighbourhood.

 

“He’s just moved here to be closer to his actual family. He’s eighteen, too. 2000s baby. So you’ll finally have someone your age.” She explained. “His grandmother said he’d probably come over when she does, and you know she comes over a lot.” She grinned and winked as if it were an inside joke, and it might as well be because both of them giggled a little at the remark.

 

“So Grandma  _ Lee _ has a grandson, right?” He asks to assure himself. 

 

“Yes, he’s sweet, too. I think you’ll like him.” Jaemin raises an eyebrow, how would she know? He was home all day yesterday, and nearly every day for the past week. 

 

“You already met him?”

 

“When he was nine.” She points a finger at him matter-of-factly. 

 

“Nine.” He repeats it slowly. “So it’s been, what, eight years? He’s  _ probably _ a whole new person.”

 

“Maybe, but he’ll always be sweet. I could tell just by looking at him.” 

 

Jaemin smiles at her. He knows she’s right, so he can’t fight back, not that he would if he  _ could. _

 

“So when is Grandma Lee coming over?”

 

“Eight.”

 

He glances at the clock. Six.  _ God save me _ , he thinks,  _ please let him be funny at the  _ least.

 

—

 

Eight comes quicker than he’d expected, seconds, minutes and hours blending together quicker than the colours of the sky at dusk. Grandma Lee eventually showed up and with her came her grandson, whose name Jaemin realised he never caught. Their first exchange was simple and dear, a shy ‘hi’ and a wave, sweet smiles and examination of faces for quick seconds. Both women migrate to the family room, leaving the boys near the door in the kitchen.

 

“Hi,” Jaemin smiles shyly once again, beginning to hold out his hand but deciding against it. “I’m Jaemin.”

 

The other boy smiles with more confidence; his smile is so warm that, it doesn’t seem like it could be a facade, and Jaemin definitely doesn’t want it to be.

 

“I’m Jeno.”

 

Jeno. Jaemin thinks it’s kind of cute the way he says his name; he says it with a dialect that he can’t quite figure out, and it’s got a soft feel to it, sort of like one of those squish toys Jaemin had as a kid. The ones that leave your handprints in it for what feels like ages.

 

Jaemin’s face has ‘I don’t know what to do’ plastered all over it, so Jeno takes it upon himself to say something.

 

“Do you want to go to that pond? We can throw stones  or something.” He suggests, slightly shrugging in the process, praying he’s caught Jaemin’s attention. He has. They step outside and in an instant their perception is changed. The dim light of Jaemin’s kitchen was shitty, quite obviously so, but now each feature was lit up by millions of bright white rays illuminating both of them for better intake of their  _ everything _ .

 

Jaemin was now a sort of light-gold colour, matching perfectly with the pale pink shirt he’d shoved on minutes before. He had red-brown hair that glew in the sun, his eyes a lighter brown than Jeno’s near-jet-black ones. God.  _ Jeno’s eyes.  _ You wouldn’t think something as dark as them could sparkle so brightly until you actually saw them. It was like some unexplainable phenomenon, one that was far better than any  _ true  _ phenomenon. But, to match his eyes was his hair, also nearly-jet-black which went really well with his slightly paler skin tone and mustard-yellow t-shirt.

 

They walk with Jaemin slightly behind Jeno, both of them sharing random thoughts and ideas they’ve come up with to do whatever it is that seems remotely fun. By the time they reach the pond the only thing they haven't talked about is themselves, so that’s exactly what they do.

 

“So you’ve been here for, like, a week.” Jaemin pauses apprehensively, then skips a stone on the water’s surface. “Do you like it? I know you used to come around when you were younger, but still. You’re older now. Different.” 

 

“It’s nicer than I remember it. When I was a kid I remembered it as something wild I experienced once a year, now it’s reality and I have a mature grasp of how serene it is. Kind of.” He adds emphasis on ‘kind of’ as if he isn’t very sure about if he’s right about himself or not. That sits in Jaemin’s stomach like a film of gasoline on top of water, he doesn’t know why, and is sure he doesn’t like it, but doesn’t complain about it to himself. Maybe it resonates with him, maybe his mind just decided it was important. No one really knows. “Do you like it?” Jaemin looks at him, eyes squinted due to the yellow-orange sun invading his sight.

 

“Why wouldn’t I? There’s so much to like. The people here are cool, I know, like, everyone in our neighbourhood. It’s really nice.”

 

“Really?” Jeno sounds dumbfounded at his response, looking at him with the most surprised looking face. “You didn’t strike me as the type that would like this type of place.”

 

“What do I strike you as the type to like, then?”

 

“Big cities. Seoul, Tokyo, London, New York. Places like that, you know?”

 

“No.” Jaemin thinks for a second, trying to understand, being unable to, then asking why. 

 

“Not sure. Maybe because who you seem to be isn’t what you show in your first impression. Like, I genuinely thought you wouldn't come here with me, and then you did and it seemed out of character because you came off as so shy at first. And cities are like that; you think they’ll be all gross and dirty and annoying, then they’re really pretty. Not saying that you seemed dirty or annoying, though. That’s not what I mean.”

 

They both sit there for a second in silence, enjoying the pinkish sky, and birds chirping. Jeno keeps skipping stones and humming little tunes from songs Jaemin thinks he knows, but ultimately can’t place. 

 

“Anyway,” Jeno says out of the blue, still staring across the pond. “We should go home. It’ll be dark really soon.” He gestures for Jaemin to follow him, and he does. He regrets it. Those moments would stay with him his entire life, and he knows that. He knows he’ll always remember the way Jeno looked at the sun setting and the look on his face when he was talking; the small smile he gave when Jaemin nervously brought up his childhood. He knows he’ll remember it, their first memory together.

 

This time Jaemin walks next to Jeno, but they stay completely silent the whole time, nothing to be heard but birds chirping and the melodies Jeno hums. Once they arrive at Jaemin’s place, they depart wishing to see each other again and saying shy goodbyes, just like how they’d met.

 

—

 

It’d been about three weeks since Jeno had moved into Jaemin’s neighbourhood and Jaemin would be lying if he said he wished he hadn’t seen him all the time. Jeno came over every other day with either his grandmother or his actual mother and each time they’d sit and talk for about a half hour, then they’d leave; it was this exact cycle for almost six days, then one day Jeno came himself. 

 

“Hey, so I was wondering if you’d want to walk with me?” He asks. A huge smile is plastered on his face when Jaemin says yes, a smile that Jaemin wishes to see more than necessary. 

 

“Where to, though?” Jaemin is directly parallel from Jeno. He’s wearing a brown flannel shirt with dark green and red stripes, which isn’t only ugly, it’s  _ hot,  _ and the fact that it was over 90 degrees didn’t help. Jeno, however, was smart and wore shorts and a lime-green button up top with yellow stripes.

 

“Anywhere, really. It’s just a walk, they’re fun because you end up nowhere and everywhere.” 

 

“I didn’t know you’d already found your way around the neighbourhood and back.” He jokes, nudging Jeno’s shoulder with his own.

 

“You know I came here when I was little. I memorised it, thankfully. I can go from this very spot a few yards from your front yard to the nearest convenience store without getting lost once.” He tries not to laugh with every sentence, cracking a smile that gets wider and wider with each word. Jaemin can’t help but do the same.

 

There was something about Jeno laughing that drew Jaemin to laugh as well, it definitely wasn’t their friendship that was newborn, wobbly, figuring out their place in each other’s lives. It was just _ something. _ Maybe the way he laughed. Maybe.

 

“Well yeah, but you were, like, nine. A baby. A little thing that probably couldn’t even spell ‘convenience’.”

 

Jeno gasps as if he’d heard the worst thing ever, “How dare you.” He puts his hand over his heart. “This is the most offensive thing I’ve ever heard… Me? Being unable to spell ‘convenience’? Absolutely absurd.” He grins a little, moving in front of Jaemin and walking backwards. “No, but I couldn’t spell it to save my life.”

 

“It? Like ‘I-T’ it? You couldn’t spell ‘it’?”

 

Jeno gives him a look of confusion, a green-orange look that mirrors itself in his voice. “I was dumb, but I wasn’t  _ that  _ dumb. I couldn’t spell convenience.” 

 

Jaemin smirks and gestures for him to turn around. “I know. I’m just fucking with you. And stop walking like that, you’re gonna get hurt.” 

 

“Who cares. It’ll heal, right? A cut is a cut, a bruise is a bruise.” He shrugs.

 

“Not when it’s your whole body tumbling down the hill at the end of the neighbourhood. Turn around.”

 

He moves back to Jaemin’s side and does a 180 whilst walking, he deadpans at Jaemin “It won’t  _ kill _ me.” 

 

“No, but it’ll hurt like hell. Trust me.” 

 

Jeno cringes at that, Jaemin can only imagine his mind has created a clear image of Jaemin at age ten, his back scraped up and down. He ran down the hill, which was a mistake in itself, but then started walking backwards. He tripped, fell, scraped his back really fucking bad. It went through his  _ shirt _ , his old Rolling Stones shirt, he still doesn’t know exactly how, but he knows he’ll never do that again. He had to walk home alone since there was no one with him, but when he got there all his grandma said was ‘How’, he shrugged it off. He knew she knew, she’d told him not to do it, but he did.

 

“Roger that.” He shakes his head and checks his watch. It’s black, made of plastic and you can hear faint clicks if you listen hard enough. Jaemin thinks he’s got somewhere to be, he probably does. Living a block away from his grandma means he goes nearly everywhere with her, even if he doesn’t  _ really  _ want to, which was something Jaemin learned a week or two ago.

 

“It’s a gross image, I know. You can’t lay on your back for, like, a week. You don’t wanna put yourself through that.” 

 

He shakes himself again. “If you don’t stop I’ll die from the  _ thought _ of it.”

 

“Yeah.” Jaemin doesn’t know what to say, which is dumb because it’s something easy to respond to.  _ I’ll die from the thought of it _ . “If you have to go somewhere, I’m fine on my own.” He says it softly, making sure to sand the edges of his words, to guarantee he’s showing he’s perfectly fine. Giving him a sort of assurance he’ll be okay.

 

“No, no. I don’t. I’m not busy, I just don’t want to,” He tilts his head to the side a bit, thinking. “Keep time in my hands? Does that make sense?”

 

“Kind of.” Jaemin giggles. “It’s understandable, at the least.”

 

“Okay, good.” Jeno keeps his feet directly in front of the other as he walks, turning on the balls of his feet, Jaemin follows. “June is always the prettiest month.” 

 

Jaemin gets that, everything is pretty in June. He wonders why. The sky turns a pink he’d never seen before in June. His surroundings are prettier in June. His surroundings where he is are pretty, now that he thinks of it, he’s somewhere he’s been before, though he doesn’t know where it is. The houses are large, colourful, dandelion yellows and basil greens, tons and tons of natural colours. Everything is so  _ nice _ . 

 

“It really,  _ really _ is.” 

 

It takes ages to get to Jeno’s house, or it  _ feels _ like it takes ages. To Jaemin, that’s a good thing. More and more time that he spends with the second closest person to him adding up. Jaemin doesn’t know how Jeno feels, but he’d give a lot to know. Jeno was an odd person, he did and didn’t voice what he was thinking. He was nice.

 

—

 

It’s July now, and Jaemin and Jeno are closer than most would expect from a month-and-a-half old friendship. They know names of pets, and parents, and the reason for an absence from either of those things. They know favourite colours, Jaemin’s being white, and Jeno’s being blue (“Any type of blue!” Jeno was looking at Jaemin as if he were crazy for asking ‘what type’, which made him laugh until his stomach felt like it was going to implode. “All blues are amazing, how can I choose?”). They knew virtually  _ everything  _ about each other, which wasn’t surprising since Jeno didn’t really  _ know _ anyone, and Jaemin spent every spare minute alone reading or listening to the FM radio. 

 

It wasn’t that Jaemin didn’t know anyone, it was that he knew everyone. He adored where he lived, he knew tons of people like Jungwoo at the corner store and Yuta on 8th Ave. but they were all so much older than him. Then there were babies just down the road, twelve and thirteen with their own ideas. Jaemin was basically alone in his age, though he still talked to those people. He especially liked talking to Yuta, that was until he moved of course. Yuta was twenty-two with ashy blond hair and a really huge smile. Before Jeno, Yuta was all Jaemin had; for some reason, Jaemin felt he knew Yuta better than anyone, maybe Yuta had felt the same before he moved. No one heard from the tall Japanese man once he left, it’d been nearly eight months now and no one spoke of him. Jaemin assumed he went back to Japan, though on the visits they shared Yuta would talk about moving to Seoul to become a musician or even a barista just something in Seoul, so Jaemin knew he was where he wanted to be either way. That was enough for him, the assured safety of a friend that was short-lived in the relationship department. Plus, now he had Jeno, who wasn’t at all like Yuta. Jeno was new, like water from a spring on a scorching day in summer. Jeno was fresh.   
  
Jeno was a lot of things and Jaemin liked to state that in his head. Jaemin liked to state what he’d seen and what he sees and compare them, which was a good thing sometimes.

 

Their friendship was very pink and white, as Jaemin put it (“What does that even mean?” “It just feels like that”). Pink and white, to Jaemin, meant soft. Anything soft in the sense of sympathy was pink, the white was just added in; Jaemin didn’t know what it meant, white itself was relative, it means everything and nothing at all, (which was probably why it was his favourite colour) but it wasn’t like that in their friendship. It was like he knew what it meant, but his being was holding it in the depths of his brain. It was on the tip of his tongue.

 

Until one day on a hill in a field not too far away from their houses.

 

Jeno was staring at those little bright yellow blossoms of what would later become wish flowers, and Jaemin couldn’t help but to wonder what he was thinking about; it was a dumb thing to him, to wonder about what someone was wondering about and to hope it’s you. He felt dumb for thinking it, but he still did it. Maybe Jeno  _ was  _ thinking about him, but who was he to ask? Jaemin had learned to wonder a lot with Jeno, he wondered about his feelings, what his smiles were about, literally everything. And then it hit him.

 

“I know it!” Jaemin had shouted, standing up quickly and dragging Jeno up with him by his shoulders.

 

Leastwise, the action startled Jeno, he screamed back at Jaemin’s outburst, causing Jaemin to fright. “Shit. Sorry, you scared me. But what do you know?”

 

Jaemin grabs Jeno’s wrists and shakes them, smiling like he’d seen God herself. 

 

“I know what the white means!” He’s ecstatic, bouncing on his heels and his toes, jumping at points. Jeno follows his actions, voluntarily this time.

 

“After One-hundred-and-sixty-eight hours, Na Jaemin has  _ finally  _ got the relative term of white through his head.” 

 

“I’m serious. I feel like Chien Shiung Wu or someone groundbreaking like that!”

 

“Well get on with it, what does it mean?” Jeno lightly shakes him.

 

“Okay, geez.” He rolls his eyes and stifles a laugh. “So you know the pink it’s what I associate with softness and such, but white is relative, anyway, I was thinking, and I was like ‘C’mon, Nana, what do you associate with white?’ and I realise the thing I _ mainly _ associate it with is innocence! So-so listen to me, okay? Soft and innocent! That’s what it is!”

“Elaborate on that?” Jeno tilts his head to the side, a habit he developed as a kid when he was confused. 

 

“Alright. Like, soft for sympathetic maybe, sweet, and innocent as in childlike, maybe. Not child _ ish _ but, you know like innocence in of itself is purity, but this is like unknowing. The state of being innocent, but not in a law way.” His hands are moving frantically trying to  _ show  _ what he’s having trouble saying.

 

“So innocence, but taken in the sense of ignorance is bliss?” 

 

“Yes! Exactly!” Jaemin’s eyes are brighter than ever and he’s looking dead at Jeno with a smile that screams what he would call ‘pink and white’. “You should take my job. I’m bad at explaining things, but you’re like a god at it.” 

 

“We’re a dynamic duo. You know, and I explain.” Jeno stares back, the same intensity of that pink and white shining through the specs of light in his glossy black eyes. 

 

_ What do you see? _ Jaemin thinks.  _ What do you see when you look into my eyes? What colours and patterns come to mind? What do you think of?  _ He grins, instead of acting on his thoughts he creates scenarios in his head as he speaks.

 

“What would our duo be called?”

 

“Nomin.” Jeno says it without hesitation, like he’d been thinking about this moment for years. “‘No’ for the end of my name, and ‘Min’ for the end of yours.” 

 

Jaemin nods. “Okay. Nomin. I like it.” 

 

They’re still staring at each other, and Jaemin thinks Jeno doesn’t notice, even though it’s obvious, but ignorance is bliss, he reminds himself. Plus, he really likes the way Jeno’s eyes look in the midday sun.

 

—

 

Weeks later Jaemin decided to invite Jeno to stay the night. As cliche as it sounds, and was, he was nervous. So,  _ so  _ nervous. But, despite his jitters, he did it and Jeno showed up at seven. It was still light outside, so his room was lit up through the blinds of his window, showing off the pale minty blue colour of his walls and the lines of polaroid photos that decorated them. His bed, a mess of grey blankets with pillows neatly against the metal headboard, a desk with several papers in smalls stacks to the left of his door. His room was homey, it felt like cider on a fall day. Perfect. Warm.

 

Jeno seemed to pick that feel up. He also seemed to like it, but Jaemin’s judgment could’ve been off.

 

“So I had an idea,” Jeno says flopping on the ground with his legs crossed, his string pack lying next to him.

 

“Should I be worried?”

 

“Not at all.” He grins a bit, a tiny spark of a grin, if not the real thing.

 

“Ok, ok. What’s the idea?”

 

Jeno smiles with his eyes now, Jaemin knows that means his idea is going to be something  _ different _ , at the least.

 

“So we wake up really early and watch the sunrise since you’ve never seen a proper one. Plus, they’re really pretty and you have to see at least one full sunrise in your lifetime.” He speaks softly and sweetly, like he does when he’s passionate about something, Jaemin thinks that voice will be the death of him. How can someone sound like the human embodiment of a strawberry shortcake? It was absurd to think of, but nothing could stop him from thinking of it. That was what kept him up at night. That voice.

 

“What’s the catch?” 

 

“You have to wake up early.” He smiles, a smile that reads ‘sorry’ and ‘not sorry’ a combination of sympathetic and happy. Ideal. 

 

Jaemin gives him a look, playfulness drips from his irises while pouting lips jokingly ask ‘do I have to’. They laugh and laugh. An endless cycle of clenching stomachs over something so funny, but so simple, catching breaths and looking each other in the eyes for milliseconds and laughing again. They end in a heap, Jeno leaning forward and launching backwards, black hair flipping and eyes crinkled, Jaemin with hardened cheeks curled up next to Jeno still giggling himself mad. Jaemin can’t distinguish between what was funny to him and what made him laugh, they were two obviously different things; maybe it was how Jeno laughed that kept him laughing, or just the high from laughing. He’d probably never know.

 

It was nine by the time they’d stopped giggling completely, and by then they’d just looked for more things to make them laugh. Eventually, it was silent; nothing but A Change Of Heart distorting quietly from Jaemin’s phone and the sound of Jeno’s pen scribbling on a page in his notebook. It was dark in Jaemin’s room, but something about Jeno made it brighter metaphorically. Jaemin loved it, Jaemin loved his company and how it felt like the sun’s rays had found their way into his life slowly but surely, warming up everything it touched, and everything the eye could see. God did he love that warmth. It found its way into his soul, it dug deep and rooted itself in his heart, growing with each second. 

 

“What’re you writing?” Jaemin leans towards Jeno, glancing over his shoulder, his eyes wide.

 

“A poem.”

 

Jaemin’s eyes brighten, a smile forms on his lips and the warmth grows another inch. 

 

“You write poetry?”

 

“Doesn’t every teenager write poetry now? It’s such a generic thing. Nothing special. Do you wanna help me with it?” Jeno moves the pad in Jaemin’s general direction, giving him a better view of the clean, blue handwriting and various crossed out phrases. 

 

“I don’t write anything… but I’ll help. I can give you colours.” He’s joking, but the look on Jeno’s face suggests that that’s exactly what he needs. 

 

Jaemin rereads the poem, taking in the meaning and what he wants it to mean. Jeno smiles.

 

“So how should it end?” He asks it with a sugary twist, like he knows what it means and he thinks that Jaemin knows what it means. A mutual understanding he wishes to happen, shown by the tone of his voice.

 

Only, Jaemin doesn’t catch on.

 

“‘Strawberries on a hot day’ add that. It’d be nice, it doesn’t really end; it’s like a ‘continue the story as you feel’ type of thing, plus it has strawberries.”

 

“Yeah,” Jeno nods, smiling a bit wider. “I like that.”

 

—

 

It was 5:30 and Jeno was shaking Jaemin awake, his alarm still coming from his phone at half volume. He was barely speaking, probably still half asleep but he continued on.

 

“Jaemin. Wake up, c’mon. It’s five.” He’s rubbing his eyes with his right hand and has his left on Jaemin’s shoulder.

 

“Why did I agree to this, again?” Jaemin’s eyes open and he sees Jeno directly over him, smiling with  _ his _ eyes closed.

 

“I don’t know, but get up. You’ll miss the sunrise.”

 

He groans again and pushes himself up. “I’ve made a mistake. Are we going outside or staying in here?”

 

“Outside.”

 

“Climbing out the window like you so desperately wanted to do?” He sees Jeno reach for a pillow to throw at him, then gives up.  _ Dork _ , he thinks.

 

“Yes. Out the window.” 

 

Jeno stands up and Jaemin reaches for his hand, pulling himself to his feet and brushing the three hours of sleep off his consciousness. They’d stayed up until two-thirty, Jaemin had helped Jeno write six poems before he drifted off. He was slightly paranoid he’d drooled on Jeno’s shoulder when he woke up on the ground next to him, but hearing Jeno’s tone and seeing his face was enough to assure him he was fine.

 

“Your grandma,” Jeno says. Jaemin’s opening the window quietly. 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“How close are you to her?”

 

“Really close. Especially recently, I have more to tell her, more to say. She gets it.” 

 

“Hm,” Jeno nods, his smile still on his face. Jaemin turns to look at him, he smiles back. He wonders what that meant; it felt like Jeno thought he was taking Jaemin away from his grandmother.

 

The window opens slightly, wind rushes in as if it were ocean waves. Jaemin climbs out and sticks his hands inside to gesture Jeno out. Despite the wind, it was humid. So humid, in fact, Jeno’s hair started to frizz up and stray from the semi-neat mop it once was. This makes Jaemin stare at his hair, little pieces flying up a bit, he goes to pat it down, Jeno stares at him. 

 

“What’re you doing?” He asks through a chuckle, eyeing Jaemin’s all-too-serious expression.

 

“Fixing your hair. It’s like a million tiny flyaways and I feel the need to fix it.” He palms the hairs on Jeno’s head in a weak attempt to fix all 110,000 hairs on his head. His plan fails, of course; the hairs stick, sure, but only for seconds at a time, then they release like a rubber band that’s cut while under pressure. Jaemin gives up within moment of the first occurrence, and instead tries to focus on the small bit light coming from the east. 

 

The sun begins to appear, it’s faded white and surrounded by colours in this order exactly: oranges, yellows, lighter yellows, blue, and the clouds turn pink like fairy floss. It’s  _ fucking beautiful  _ and Jaemin gets mad at himself for never seeing one before. Jeno, however, is too busy looking at Jaemin. He examines the way Jaemin’s face lights up when the sun shows its true self, looks at the awe-stricken smile his muscles form at the sight. What he doesn’t see is Jaemin looking at him from the corner of his eye and smiling just for him. He doesn’t see it, but Jaemin wishes he had. 

 

They sit as they are for what feels like hours after the sunrise, though it’s only been a few minutes. It’s summer and they’ve no need for the perception of time; it’s meaningless to them. They’re teenagers and they’ve their whole lives ahead of them, this sunrise and the forgotten minutes are their awakening to this. Now they have each other. That’s all they need.

 

Jeno leaves three hours later, with him follows the ray of warmth and light that flooded Jaemin’s room the previous night. Jaemin assumes that light will come back soon, but, he gets informed awfully late that Jeno is going to the seaside for a week on holiday. So that’s something. It turns out to be a decent thing, though, not good, nor bad. Jaemin spends a week with his grandma and his FM radio, just like before Jeno.

 

Only now he strictly talks about Jeno.

 

Jaemin places himself on the counter of his ugly lavender kitchen, his grandma focused on her computer.

 

“Listen,” He says, sighing dreamily, it’s meant to be a joke, but it comes off too real. “he’s absolutely wild. But in a  _ super  _ good way. Like, he gets everything I can’t say, you know?”

 

“Even the colours you associate with things?” She’s still focused on the computer, but she’s comprehending whatever nonsense her grandson is spilling out of his mouth.

 

“ _ Even the colours I associate with things. _ It’s crazy! Not even  _ you _ could do that, and you’re the closest person to me!”

 

She clicks her tongue, “You have me there, but he’s also  _ young _ .”

 

“So!? He  _ gets  _ it and it’s so  _ so  _ cool!”

 

She smiles, a smile of faded love and lust, memories come and gone. 

 

“I was like that with your grandpa.”

 

His grandpa. He wasn’t ever brought up anymore, ever since Jaemin was eight he was a sensitive topic no one dared to near, much like his parents. He considered  _ thinking _ of the man a vice, so to have his grandmother speak of him was something like a miracle, just more bittersweet. 

 

“You were?” He’s confused, this man he’d met maybe once in his life reminded his grandma of how he is now. Wow?

 

“Yeah. I’d say similar things to what you’re saying to me right now, only, they were to my mother.” The look on her face isn’t melancholic or bittersweet, it’s just  _ happy _ . A great piece of the past come to visit again.

 

“So, what I’m getting from this is that I’m the exact copy of you just male?” Jaemin questioned, swinging his legs and letting his muscle memory take over his mouth. A tiny smile appeared, he knew of their past and everything that happened before his grandpa passed, and he was  _ stoked _ Jaemin’s constant rambling of his best friend reminded her of  _ their _ relationship.

 

She points her pen at him and laughs, “If you want to take it that way, yes. You’re me.”

 

His smile grows wider, he’s always admired his grandmother and hearing that is like hearing that your idol loves you.  _ Hell yes,  _ he thinks.  _ Hell yes. _

 

—

 

He survives the next week on nothing but conversations of his grandma’s past and present that he’s heard millions of times before before, and a beat up copy of  _ My Sister’s Keeper _ . Which was definitely not the best thing to read when someone decided to tap on your bedroom window at ten in the morning. It scares the shit out of Jaemin, but makes Jeno laugh through the windowpane of his room. 

 

“What do you want, loser?” Jaemin asks Jeno. It’s been a week, and  _ damn _ has he missed Jeno.

 

“Your time, idiot. It’s been ten-thousand-eighty minutes since I’ve last seen you face-to-face and I plan to take the next sixty of this day.”

 

“I’m guessing this means you want to ‘sneak in’?”

 

Jeno’s expression goes damp, “Stop figuring me out so quickly, I was just gonna come in.” Nevertheless, he climbs through, Jaemin knowing his grandmother couldn’t care less if Jeno had ‘snuck in’ or not, and hoping he knew same. 

 

“I just know you too well.” He shrugs his comment off, closing his window. 

 

Jeno challenges this with a look the second Jaemin turns around. “Doubt that. You can’t know the  _ that  _ well.”

 

“I do. Your favourite colour, pet’s name, favourite flower, room, book, song, your basic ideas. You know these about me too. I think.”

 

“White, none, Hibiscus, your room, The Guest, Antichrist The 1975, basic ideas are just colours formed into gestures and words. Right?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Your turn, go.” Jeno smiles at him, and Jaemin feels that warmth settle in his bones again. 

 

“Any blue, Bongsik, Diphylleia, living room because it’s the cosiest, Carry On, and Stay the Night Forever by Kiyotaka Sugiyama, your basic ideas are slapped into your journal as poems and such. Suck it.” He folds his arms and holds a virtuous smile, boasting his victories as he knows he’s a guaranteed win.

 

“Damn. Guess we do know each other that well.” 

 

“You should just listen to me next time.” He takes short strides to where Jeno has sat at his desk. “So. Sixty-minutes huh? What are your plans for that?”

 

“If I’m honest my plan was for you to forget I said sixty minutes, then spend time with you as long as you can stand.” He stands up to give the chair to Jaemin, who declines. “It’s a great plan, right?” Jeno chuckles yellow and green, he catches Jaemin’s attention whilst he leans back in the desk. They notice each other, differently than before; a difference that shreds fingertips, but can’t be identified.

 

“So.” Jaemin said, the ‘o’ is drawn out so it sounds like he’s speaking in a foreign tongue for the first time ever. “Any other plans?”

 

“After I waste your time? No, not at all.” He keeps leaning, rocking on his palms a bit. “I could keep hiding out here, though.”

 

Jaemin smiles, flushing a tad. “Okay. If you want to.”

 

In that split second of silence between the end of his sentence and Jeno’s mouth opening, Jaemin’s grandma knocks on his door. Almost as if she’s on queue. Jaemin immediately points to his closet to the left of him, mouthing ‘go’. Jeno does, closing the door quiet as a feather falling on solid ground.

 

“Yes?” Jaemin sings, opening his  _ actual _ door.

 

“It’s laundry day!” His grandma sings back. “Don’t forget to get dirtied clothes in the wash before 12.” This part she says with a smile, it sticks out to Jaemin. She doesn’t normally smile on laundry days.

 

“I got it in yesterday.” He smiles, confusion in his face. 

 

“Only because you’ve been wearing the same sweatpants and jumper for three days. I’m just reminding you, in case you ever decide to change.” With that she closes his door, and he listens to her footsteps disappear slowly.

 

Jeno opens the closet door, “Two  _ days _ , Nana? Did you shower?” He sounds grossed out, but it’s quite obviously an act by the undertone. 

 

“Yes. Are you—what? You thought I didn’t  _ shower.” _

 

“Don’t blame me. You never know with people.” 

 

Jaemin wants to kill him for the comment, it shows in his face.

 

“Don’t be embarrassed, Nana.” He teases, putting his right hand on Jaemin’s arm. “We’ve all done it.”

 

“Oh, piss off.” He says through a chuckle, knocking Jeno’s hand off of his arm.

 

“Did  _ you _ have anything planned for today?” He asks it as if accusing Jaemin, catching them both visibly off guard.

 

“Uhm. No? I was probably gonna call you, lay down all day, eat, read. Usual things.”

 

“If I’m intruding, I’ll crawl back out the window.”

 

Jeno was the type of person to be out-right about what someone else wanted to do. In their friendship, he chose Jaemin’s ideas over his own, not that either cared; their ideas were similar enough to where one or the other would be perfectly fine no matter who they came from.

 

“No, no.” He watches Jeno lean back on the desk again. “Those are boring anyways. I did the same thing for five days straight.”

 

“What do you want to do?” When Jeno asks, the warmth seems to shove itself down his throat and seep through _every_ _goddamned_ _syllable_. 

 

“Not sure. We could hide out here, go anywhere here, go to your house. Anything. It’s a relatively small neighbourhood, not much to do, but also too much.” Jaemin focuses on Jeno’s hands rather than his eyes. He doesn’t know why but he thinks it might be for the better.

 

“I like the hiding out thing best.”

 

“Me, too. So,” He doesn’t  _ finish _ his sentence per se, but it’s not like he had to. Both of them understand what Jaemin tries to get across, so they sit on the floor and Jaemin gets to talking.

 

“In the treacherous behaviour portrayed by you leaving me alone with nothing to do for a week, I started reading this really old copy of a book called  _ My Sister’s Keeper _ . It isn’t the worst thing I’ve laid my eyes on, but it isn’t the best either. It’s like when something’s terrible but also really good at the same time.”

 

Jeno nods. “Tell me about it.”

 

Jaemin’s face lights up. Jeno’s learned that Jaemin loves to talk, especially about things he likes. Jeno made it a priority to ask about whatever Jaemin brought up if he even speculated Jaemin might be enjoying it.

 

“There’s this girl, her name is Anna, she’s thirteen and she’s  _ sure  _ her parents only had her to keep her sister, Kate, alive. Her sister is older than her, like sixteen maybe, and she has leukaemia. Anna goes through tons of surgeries to give Kate things she needs like bone marrow at some point her kidneys, too? It’s kind of dark if you think about it. But she does it to keep her sister alive.” he realises he’s still staring at Jeno’s hands and slowly moves his eyes to Jeno’s. It wasn’t a bad idea, but it wasn’t the best either. Funny how life imitates his sentences. “So Anna eventually questions why she’s even alive, and her place in it, decides she was born  _ just _ to keep Kate alive and sues her parents.”

 

“Does it go through?” Jeno sounds and  _ looks _ invested in the story, and Jaemin can’t help but feel kind of bad.

 

“I don’t know. I’m not that far in. But, I  _ will _ let you borrow the copy when I’m done.”

 

Jeno’s quiet for a second, then he says “I’d rather hear you talk about it.” and Jaemin doesn’t know why his stomach does a little front flip thing.

  
  
  


An hour later, they’re sprawled out on Jaemin’s bed talking about random shit they think of. It’s almost like they’ve come full circle in their friendship; the first day they met two-point-oh. Jaemin’s making patterns out of the ceiling when love comes to mind. The Gods know what he wants to know, even if  _ he _ doesn’t, so they deliver.

 

“Have you ever been in love?” 

 

Jaemin doesn’t even remember asking it, or thinking it at that. The words just kind of slip from his tongue and into time and space, sound waves form themselves without the the the consent of their owner. It leaves Jeno flustered, ears red and struggling with singular words.

 

“Well, uh—I. I don’t know if it’d be called that? Just an attraction... maybe? I don’t know.”

 

Stones sink in Jaemin’s stomach, dropping feet, yards, miles.

 

“Who?” Nothing that comes out of his mouth is his  _ own _ anymore. Jaemin almost wants to tape his mouth shut, but his entire body rejects anything he thinks. He shifts into his side, head resting in his palm. 

 

“Doesn’t matter.”

 

Jeno is coherently relieved when Jaemin’s mouth stays shut, so he takes his place.

 

“Have you?” Unlike Jaemin, he’s still on his back, but he can clearly see him out of the corner of his eye. All it takes is one look to his right. “Been in love, I mean.”

 

“Maybe. I think that could be the word for it.”

 

“Oh.” Something in his voice sounds like it stings. “Who?”

 

“A guy.” Jeno sighs, relief maybe. They’d been over who they’d previously liked times before, Jaemin’s wasn’t a secret, not that either cared who the other had wanted to date. It wasn’t their business, nor was it relevant. It was just a big shit-show of ‘name and age’ and/or ‘when and why”. “But that might not be the word.” 

 

Neither says anything, Jaemin stays staring at Jeno, he stares like he could see straight through Jeno’s mind and collect every inch of information in his head; something about that makes Jeno turn back to the ceiling. 

 

“I changed the end of the poem.” Jeno states as he rolls into his stomach. He lays his head on his arms and stares at Jaemin, no, staring wasn’t the word. He was examining. Watching Jaemin’s mouth move as he asked ‘what?’ and the changes his face made when he said he’d left Jaemin’s part in.

 

“I just added a few lines in the end.”

 

“What is it now?”

 

“I can’t tell you, duh. You would’ve known by now if I was gonna tell you now.”

 

Jaemin gives him the dirtiest look he’s ever given anyone. 

 

“Just tell me.” He rolls next to Jeno and pokes him straight in the forehead. “What’s so bad about it that you can’t tell me?”

 

“Nothing!” He chortles. “I’m saving it for your birthday, idiot.” 

 

“Just tell me now! I’ll pretend I don’t know, it’ll go as smoothly as planned.”

 

“You’re so impatient. You just have to wait.”

 

—

 

The month passes faster than Jaemin anticipated. Weeks blurred into noticing too much about Jeno, from the way his voice switches tones when talking to certain people, how it softens with him, his eyes and how they glow, his smile and how the warmth spreads to his feet when he grins at Jaemin.

 

Nothing is planned for his birthday, per his request. He was turning eighteen, not eight is what he said to his grandmother. Jeno, however, didn’t care about that. He decided that even if Jaemin had nothing planned he’d make it seem like there was planning.

 

“You didn’t say Jeno was coming.” Is all his grandmother says when she sees him standing at the door.

 

“I didn’t think anything of it.” Is how he replies. His voice is dull due to lack of sleep, too many days spent awake at three in the  _ fucking _ morning thinking of ways to say what he wants to say. 

 

Jeno smiles and waves at Jaemin’s grandma before he scurries off next to him in the hallway. 

 

“Happy eighteenth, Nana!” Jeno whisper-yells, he smiles the moment his eyes lock with Jaemin’s.

 

“Don’t mention it. It’s boring.”

 

Jeno looks at him. “Boring?” He repeats, confused.

 

“Nothing to bother anyone about. It’s a birthday, not a moon landing.”

 

“Sure, but you’re eighteen now! You’ve  _ finally _ caught up with me.”

 

Jaemin breathes in, holds it and rolls his eyes.

 

“You,” he pokes Jeno dead centre in his chest. “Are so annoying.”

 

“You still love me, though.”

 

_ Shit _ . 

 

He knows what Jeno means, he means it in a best friend way, but that doesn’t stop Jaemin’s  _ entire fucking body  _ from heating up in embarrassment. 

 

“Pfft. No. You’re too weird for my taste.” 

 

“Whatever you say. Also, have you been sleeping at all? It’s a random question but you look dead.”

 

“Way to be blunt with it, but yeah, I’ve slept but only from, like, three to seven.”

 

“Three in the morning?” His voice emits something worrisome.

 

“Of course. Do you take me for some  _ animal _ who sleeps directly after lunch? I couldn't ever. Like, I can't even nap.” Jaemin yawns as he watches Jeno fall on the floor for the millionth time. “Do you flop down on the floor when you’re alone or is it only when you’re with me?”

 

“It’s all the time, but I mainly do it here. Your floor isn’t as hard as mine.” He smiles up at Jaemin and reaches for his hand. Jaemin complies, allowing Jeno to pull him down next to him. “You look tired as hell.”

 

“That’s because I  _ am _ !” He lays down next to Jeno, his head halfway on Jeno’s thigh. “I feel like I’m going to die.”

 

“Then sleep. You’re gonna stay feeling like shit until you sleep normally.”

 

“But that’s too much work and I  _ can’t  _ sleep any earlier. And before you say it, I’m not sleeping now because you’re here.”

 

Jeno plants his hands flat on the ground and pushes himself up, “Guess I have to go, then.”

 

“No, wait, don’t.” In a split second he grabs Jeno’s wrist, a weak, tired grip pulling him back down with a half-pout plastered under tired eyes. “Stay.” Jeno falls back onto the floor.

 

“Sleep.” 

 

“Later,” 

 

Jaemin doesn’t want Jeno to leave, and maybe he feels the same. Maybe that’s why he complies.

 

“Okay,”

 

Jaemin sits up, he observes Jeno, saying things that he couldn’t ever say out loud in his head. A moment passes, he wraps his arms around Jeno’s torso, Jeno does the same. There’s no hesitation in the exchange, just purity and periwinkle. The hug is a silent yell of ‘thank you’ and ‘you’re welcome’ all at once, endearing, heartfelt. It breaks, leaving them cold, but satisfied. Jaemin decides a hug can be on the same level as a kiss, in that moment.

 

Then Jeno gives Jaemin the book. It’d been anticipated since Jeno brought it up, and he was finally going to show the changes to their poem; it’s not a big deal to most, but it is to Jaemin. 

 

His eyes follow each delicate word on the silky page, taking each word in one by one like he had the first night he read it. The only difference is the last stanzas now. Jaemin reads the poem out loud as he scans the pages, “Love me like you love the wind when it’s caught in your hair / Love me like you love strawberries in a hot day /  _ Love me like I love you / Simple, sweet, perfect. _ ” and he just sits there, mouth open in amazement staring at Jeno.

 

Jeno laughs nervously, “Close your mouth,” he uses his pointer finger and thumb to close the space between Jaemin’s lips. “It’s not that good. It’s barely anything, and you’ve read this entire thing before.” 

 

“Not the new ending!”

 

“Nana, there’s barely a difference,” he reasons, “it’s the same but with  _ two _ new stanzas.”

 

“But those  _ two _ stanzas make it ten-million-times better.” Jaemin’s eyes have a tiny glint in them when he looks at Jeno and it catches him off guard, but he starts looking back. 

 

“I think you just like it because it makes you think of something you want to say.”

 

He’s right.

 

“No,” Jaemin sets the book down next to him and lazily lays his hands in his lap. “Not really.” Then he smirks, “you’re trying to say that’s how  _ you _ feel aren’t you?” 

 

Jeno only smiles. “And if I am?”

 

“I wouldn’t mind.” That earns Jaemin a smile from Jeno, and  _ god  _ does he love Jeno’s smile, it spreads from his mouth, and it crinkles his eyes, and lights up his face even more than it is when he isn’t smiling. Jeno’s smile has an effect on Jaemin that makes his heart flip in his chest and a smile creep onto his face involuntarily; it’s crazy.

 

“I finished the book.” Jaemin says it like it’s a sudden realisation, and it kind of is. “The one I read while you were gone, I mean.  _ My Sister’s Keeper _ .”

 

“Really? How’d it end? Was it good?” 

 

“It ended… weirdly. It was good, though. I was  _ going _ to let you read it.” 

 

That sinks deep into Jeno’s mind. 

 

_ Going _ .

 

“ _ Or _ , you could read it to me. If you want, of course.”

 

So Jaemin does. He reads, and reads. They only get halfway through before both of them are fairly tired; three hours on the hard floor piled oddly on top of each other, reading isn’t the  _ best _ for your body, not that it matters, they guess. It’s 7pm, the sun is still up but it’s setting, slowly, the light it gives off a bright red that shines through Jaemin’s blinds; it looks huge. 

 

The entire experience of Jaemin closing the book and moving to get closer to his window reminds Jeno of the morning on the roof. Jaemin’s face is almost as bright, but now it’s covered in a red-pink hue that reminds him of everything amazing in the world.

 

“I love sunsets.” Jaemin says it like sugar, it pours from his mouth slowly and it tastes like sweet cream.

 

“Me, too.”

 

“You remind me of sunsets,” it’s said casually as if it doesn’t mean something more than what it implies, “they’re pretty, they’re bright, they bring me joy, all like you. That’s probably dumb and sappy, but it’s the truth.”

 

Jeno scoots next to him, “it’s not dumb, but it  _ is _ sappy. You’re a softie, though, so I’ll allow it.” 

 

Jaemin elbows him, “you love that I’m a softie.”

 

“You aren’t wrong. It’s cute.” Jeno claps his hands together. “Another thing, why’re you so soft? It’s odd, because if you remember, you might not, when we first met I told you I didn’t think you’d come with me because you seemed reserved, but you also didn’t seem soft. I mean, now you do, but you didn’t.”

 

He twiddles his thumbs. Stupid, cute. “I don’t know, it’s second nature, kind of. It just flows through me.”

 

“Like the colour association thing?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

—

 

_ Pretty _ , is what Jeno thinks. He and Jaemin have been going on about  _ soft _ , soft thoughts, fabrics, ideas, soft everything, but every single time Jaemin’s face does the  _ thing _ . The  _ thing  _ where he lights up and he realises something, a lightbulb goes off in his mind and it lights his eyes and face. Jeno’s said how much he loves this, to himself, to his books, to dragonflies that land next to him when he’s alone outside. 

 

It’s perfect, but now it’s 9, and Jeno knows he has to go. Neither Jeno nor Jaemin wants this; thus why they’re stalling outside the door of Jaemin’s house.

 

“Happy birthday,” Jeno says again. He puts a hand on Jaemin’s head, runs it through his hair. “Again.”

 

He giggles, “it doesn’t matter.” 

 

“It does, you’re just weird.” Jeno mocks.

 

“Don’t you have to go home, loser?” he counters, smiling with his entire being (it seems).

 

“Maybe.” His hand falls to Jaemin’s shoulder. “But who cares?”

 

“Your mother,” He says it sweet and tangy, like it’s obvious but Jeno’s oblivious to it. “And grandparents”

 

“They’ll survive without me for  _ one _ more day.” 

 

“Bye, Jeno.” he sighs, pushing him towards the curb.

 

Jeno turns, walking backwards. It reminds them of the hill. “Bye, Jaemin.” He waves with his fingers, smiling like an idiot.

  
  
  


There’s a mutual understanding that they love each other, however that may be. But something isn’t right, doesn’t set right in their stomachs (mainly Jaemin’s), which is probably why twenty minutes later he’s running for Jeno while the streetlights emit the ugliest yellow-orange colour known to man. 

 

In Jaemin’s hand is Jeno’s book, the little black one that’s covered in faux leather and has a tiny string attached to the inside; he’s more than grateful for this book, because how the hell else would he explain why he started running for Jeno? 

 

It doesn’t take him an awfully long time to get there on foot, it takes fifteen minutes at most, and then he’s in front of Jeno’s brick-covered, ranch-style house, so he goes to the window.

 

He’s been here before, maybe four times at most, Jeno prefered if they spent time at Jaemin’s house, and he wouldn’t say no to Jeno. Jaemin would do anything for Jeno, he realises that now, standing inches away from the window to his room. He’s thought about this and how it could play out and  _ why  _ he’s there, and just  _ now his  _ brain decides that he must realise every little thing they’ve done, and every little feeling he’s had in his gut. He can’t place if it’s for the greater good or not.

 

He knocks once, the glass is surprisingly cold for a muggy August night. He can see light through the closed curtains of the window, and he  _ prays _ he didn’t fuck up with his timing. 

 

He didn’t, and Jeno opens the curtains. The shock on his face is obvious, and justified considering the boy standing outside his window had to push him to leave just thirty-five minutes ago. 

 

The window opens and sticky-hot air gushes in, like the morning where they watched the sunrise. 

 

“What are you doing?” Jeno says quietly, the taken aback look still on his face.

 

“Paying you a visit. You left this,” he shows the book, gazing around Jeno’s room for any sign of human life. “Why are we whispering?”

 

“My door is wide open, Nana.”

 

“Close it so we can talk normally.” Jeno complies, gesturing Jaemin in.

 

“Here,” he places the book in Jeno hand, the one that’s still wide open from giving Jaemin his hand. “Sorry I didn’t just go to the door, I was scared someone would send me off.” He stares at the walls of Jeno’s room, they’re this weird dark blue colour, and it figures. Jeno’s stupidly obvious, in a cute, dorky way. 

 

“I can tell this isn’t the only reason why you’re here.”

 

his stomach twists.

 

“Yeah, uh,” the hours he spent awake can’t really help with what he’s going to say, because looking back they were all stupid and shitty and he doesn’t want to be cliche with anything, especially his feelings. Because, yes, he loves Jeno, and no, it’s not in a just best friends way. His brain gets clouded with thoughts of Jeno when he can’t sleep and when he’s in a bad mood he imagines Jeno’s stupid soft laugh, he likes his presence and he wants to be surrounded by the light that follows Jeno all the time, but he needs to conjure up those thoughts into understandable words. “I like you?” 

 

“Is that a question?” Jeno’s tone is questionable, he looks just as confused as Jaemin does. 

 

“No? I just, I like you. Like, like-like you? Jesus, I sound six.” He pauses, breathes, looks Jeno straight in the eyes. “I really like you, like, seriously like you, on a love level.”

 

Jeno’s eyes open wider.

 

_ Oh. _

 

Jeno’s had a decently tight grasp on his feelings since the first week of their friendship; he’s always liked Jaemin, and why he can’t place. There’s just something about his mannerism, and love for dumb things that makes him adore Jaemin. Never once did he think Jaemin would return these feelings, not even when he clamped his mouth shut after asking about love, or anything of the sort. It was unimaginable to Jeno, and now it was a reality, sort of.

 

“I,” he pauses, words attempting to form in his throat and being shoved into the dark alleyway of no-thanks, “I like you, too. So, yeah.” His smile forms slow, and Jaemin’s follows it.

 

“For real?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Nothing else is said, there’s no get-together, there’s no let’s-date, it’s just them, their feelings, and a strong white light coming from a lamp in the far left corner. That’s all they need, really. Feelings are more than enough, but Jaemin kind of wishes he’d gotten a kiss.

—

 

Nothing changed between them, other than the subtle things; little hearts written on wrists whilst one of them sleeps, or kisses on the cheek before sending each other off. It’s what they wanted, and now they’ve got it. 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope u liked this shitty fic my nomin heart couldn’t rly resist writing something sweet and soft abt them 
> 
> hmu on [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/iridescpiss) if u wanna ;)


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